


The Long Hunt

by HostisHumaniGeneris



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M, Monsters, Post-Apocalyptic, Sibling Incest, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-08
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-07-27 21:58:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16228130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HostisHumaniGeneris/pseuds/HostisHumaniGeneris
Summary: For two decades he's pursued her; first as the monster wearing his sister's face, then as his sister who was a monster.  Years ago he'd given up intent to slay her, and she'd shown no inclination to harm him.  So why did he keep up the chase?





	The Long Hunt

**Author's Note:**

  * For [straightforwardly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/straightforwardly/gifts).



He rolled out of bed and thudded to the floor.  He stood and did his best to shake the sleep from his head, and the soreness from the day’s exertions from his limbs.  A light sleeper, he’d woken in anger when he heard the shuffling and scraping behind the house.

Where _she_ was.

The wasting disease, which caused his sister to grow paler and paler, and weaker and weaker, had not claimed him.  He almost wished he had caught it as well; after mom died, she was the only thing in his life, really; isolated as they were it fell to them to run the farm and feed themselves.  Her being the eldest by years, it fell to her to make the decisions.  He did his best to minister too her—they were too poor to afford a doctor—tried to make her get better.  When he finally realized, he did his best to comfort her and try not to weep.

He didn’t always succeed, and it was almost sick how the dying woman comforted him.  Ever since the plague had claimed ma, they and their miserable plot of land were the only things either one of them had, and she had smiled and humored his attempts to seem like a man rather than a boy, even at the end of it.

Then he was alone, early this morning he found her cold and nonmoving.  And so he got the shovel and began digging.  Half-remembered prayers and the deepest hole he could dig in a day were far less than she deserved, but all she could get.  It took him all day and part of him had wanted to go to the cliffs overlooking the river and take the plunge, let it all be over.

He was alive and alone and she was in the dirt.

And now a predator was snuffling at her grave, digging her up.

He couldn’t allow that.

He rushed to the disorganized pile of tools and grabbed a splitting axe, then rushed out the door.  Running around the cabin, he gasped.  Something had been digging, but _out_ from the bottom of the grave, not up from the top.  The gown she died in was torn and covered in dirt, and her skin retained that awful pallor where it wasn’t covered in dust.  But she was very much alive.

He rushed to her, reaching for her, and she looked up at him.  He grabbed a hand and pulled, straining to help her all the way of out of the dirt.  Her skin was cold to the touch, but she wasn’t shivering, she didn’t feel as frail as she had, standing steadily near him.

“So hungry…” She half-muttered.  She hadn’t been able to hold food down for a straight week, made sense.  He meant to lead her inside but she held firm, grip like iron.  “…please… I…”

She wrapped him in a tight embrace, nails of her right fingers running along his spine at the neck.  The contact was too intimate to be sisterly, but he was so glad to have her.  He didn’t feel the fangs sink in, only the way her tongue ran against the incisions she’d made.  It wasn’t painful.  He let himself relax as she promised him it would only be a little, she didn’t want to hurt her brother.

They woke him before dawn the next morning by kicking him in the ribs.  The Hunters.  He was too weak to stand unaided, had the scars of her bites on the side of his neck.  They were rough with him, made him recount the story in its entirety, the course of his sister’s illness, the ragged cut on her neck he assumed was how she got infected, how she got weaker.

They held up a mirror and he could see a similar wound on his neck.  Then they told him their side of the story.  They had heard a young woman had been afflicted by an unusual disease and investigated, did what they could to protect her.  They found several more young women had been afflicted with this disease nearby and protected them.  The townspeople almost as an afterthought mentioned his sister, the poor woman far from town on barren land who never really belonged to the community. 

Had they thought of her sooner, she might’ve been saved.  Instead, the Hunters arrived only quick enough to interrupt her first feeding.

If it weren’t for the wounds in his throat and how strong, how desperate she had been last night, he would not have believed them.  She was preyed upon by a monster, bled until she was hollowed out and that empty shell had returned from the grave.

Weak as he was, he followed them to town, to the in where they put themselves up.  His head was a maelstrom of thoughts, the sick thrill of her dead touch intermingling with other shameful memories he’d had about the only woman in his life, her lying weak and dying, being preyed upon by a monster that he had _been completely unable_ to stop, her body, walking about out there, denied even the rest she deserved.

He’d get better from the blood loss, and then he’d follow the Hunters.  Learn from them.  There was nothing left on the farm for him, but there was an opportunity with them.  The hunters frequently were people victimized by the monsters of the world, determined to make sure it never happened again. 

And so would he.

* * *

He woke up facedown, metallic tang of blood on his tongue.  Groaning, he pushed himself up to his feet and scanned the room for his gear.  He stumbled over an outlaw’s corpse and managed to retrieve the battered old rifle from the floor, scrutinizing it for damage as best he could in the darkness. 

Until she wrenched if from his grasp and threw it across the room.  He stumbled off balance, using the wall to keep his footing.

She looked the same as ever; dressed in roughspun clothes and her hair unkempt.  He’d heard reports of a vampire this far North, and tracked it.  The weird lady, as the locals had called her, never picked the same victim more than once, instead choosing several people.  That was good, since no deaths meant no new vampires, and it made them easier to pin down.  Then he’d heard about a gang of outlaws that had been murdering their way up and down a stretch of settlements, too far out for the towns to send their guards to protect.

He hunted monsters.  Wolves, hell lizards, the swarm, and all the ones that looked like people.  Why shouldn’t he hunt monsters who _were_ people?  The firefight, which started in the middle of the night, ended quickly when _she_ showed up.  He’d followed the screams into the “haunted house”.

This had been an amusement park before the Long Fall.  Children and their parents would come here to ride trains that went in circles—he’d heard the way they went up and down was meant to simulate danger and excitement—or see entertainers or do all sorts of things that made no sense.  And now, he’d found her again, in a fake house with fake monsters.

And he was going to die, back to a moldy wall, plastic skeletons and wolf beasts at his feet.  She approached him, grabbing his wrist as he swung at her, squeezing until he dropped the sharpened stake he was wielding.  With her free hand, she brushed strands of black hair out of her face and leaned in close.  “It’s been a while, brother.”

He’d been denied the chance to avenge his sister; the Hunters had found and killed the one who had turned her although his sister had eluded them.  But they let him tag along and learn; he was an unexceptional boy who devoted himself to making himself worthwhile.  He grew and trained and learned and apprenticed and hunted and killed.  And he began to devote himself to finding the husk of his sister and killing it, giving her some rest.

When he gave no reply, she ran a hand down his cheek.  His heart picked up pace as her cold fingers traced his jawline.  “You’ve grown up a lot.  You’re starting to look like dad.”

He couldn’t remember their father, he’d died while his son was too young.  Hearing the thing using his sister’s voice and their father’s memory to praise him was sickening.  His jaw clenched.

She cupped his chin and looked up at him.  He stared at her; he’d seen a lot of vampires up close, most had a look of smug triumph at the mortal fool, some were terrified, some were wild with hunger and madness.  She was… herself; her expression was ever shifting, like he wasn’t sure if she should be happy or sad about this occurrence.

They’d been in this situation before; he’d caught up to her multiple times, and she’d always end up with the upper hand.  And she never sealed the deal; the crucifix around his neck kept her from feeding—although the veins in his arms and legs were fair game—but she could’ve just killed him and freed herself of another vampire under.  After a few more moments, of silence, she said.  “Please, just say something.”

“What’s there to say?  Get it over with.” She had to be manipulating him, planning something.  She wasn’t his sister anymore.

She frowned sadly, then perked up.  She looked down the hall, covering his mouth with her palm.  “We missed one.”

He didn’t need any help keeping silent, the Raider deserved what was coming.  She let him go and rushed at the outlaw, sinking her fangs deep.  They screamed and struggled and failed to accomplish anything and weakened.

He pushed off from the wall, stooping to pick up the dropped stake. 

“If you want to kill a vampire, here you go.”  By the time he managed to force himself back upright, she dropped the outlaw, now much paler and more still than he had been when she grabbed him.  She didn’t usually kill her prey.  But this one was different.  As she left he swore her tone sounded sincerely sad when she said “It was nice seeing you again.” 

He staggered to pursue her, but she easily outpaced him; by the time he reached the raider, she was long gone.  He kicked the body at his feet over and almost collapsed on top of it.  He scrambled for something heavy, settling on some piece of metal refuse, and held it overhead while lining up the stake.

He waited until the raider’s eyes opened before he began to drive it in.

* * *

The woman was screaming as he and her husband grappled.  The man wasn’t strong by vampire standards and he’d attacked with the element of surprise.  Blood pounded in his ears as he kicked the vampire’s leg out from under him, causing him to stumble away off balance. 

He drew his machete and slammed into the vampire, knocking them both to the ground; vampire facedown, him on its back.  One swipe to the neck and it would be over.  Beheading worked as well as staking; and in general a good swipe to the neck or head would at least stun a vampire; something a misplaced stake rarely did.  

The woman leapt on his back.  He’d traveled this way countless times, and the wife had always been happy to board a traveler for the night while her husband was out; he was a town guard who stood at the lookout post most nights.  Probably where he got bitten.  She pulled him off and he struggled to pry her off without hurting her too badly.  They spun and she yelped until he managed to pry her off and toss her to the ground.  “Stay down!”

She crawled on the dirt, covering up the vampire who was her husband; had he broken its leg with the kick?  He was having difficulty rising.  She yelled up at him.  “Just go!”

“Ma’am.  He’s not your husband anymore.” This was the first time he’d actually met the man, and he noticed the signs really easily.  The lack of reflection was the most obvious.

“Anymore?” She laughed madly, her hands flew to her neck, pulling at her blouse.  She had a few fresh bite wounds, but was so heavily scarred around her throat; he’d been feeding for _years_.  “He was like this when I met him!”

“What?!”

That was when some of the other villagers burst in, everyone of them tense.  Not about the vampire laying on the floor, he quickly learned. 

The night guardsman was open about what he was and what he wanted when he first came, introducing himself by killing the bandits who had been menacing the town.  He’d continue to do that, protect the town, in exchange for a wage, nothing the villagers couldn’t pay.  What started as a protection racket; him killing threats to the village, turned into friendships, even a loving relationship.  There were dangerous vampires, they understood; but the Hunter was trying to kill their protector.

They asked him to leave town.

As he trudged down the hills, he turned the situation over in his mind.  Not all vampires killed—he knew that.  But the thought of one settling down, being honest with its prey, protecting them like a farmer with cattle?  Inconceivable.  Especially because you didn’t marry cattle.

It got him thinking about his sister.

They’d had run-ins way too many times over the years.  He’d killed everything that could be killed, and some that supposedly couldn’t.  Wolves, skels, saurs, things the hunters had no words for, criminals and vampires.  Especially vampires.  And she’d killed too-mainly raider gangs; she did her best to avoid harming civilians too bad, even when starving.  That was part of the reason other hunters had given up on hunting her; she wasn’t at threat.

Other Hunters eventually decided if she was barely a threat to the public, and either eluded or killed everyone who hunted her, they might as well rescind the bounty on her head.  Still some pursued her to prove themselves, most returned humbled.

They had a habit of finding one another though; he had scars from encounters with her, and if she didn’t heal too rapidly for them to form, she would’ve had some from her.  But they never managed to seal the deal.  She’d left him bruised and bleeding in some abandoned book shop or museum more times than he could count, and he’d always hesitated when he had the element of surprise or managed to wear her down enough to have her at his mercy.  No bounty, no reason to chase her.  Except she was his sister.

Love turned to hate when she rose from the grave; she was a grotesque parody of his sister, a dead shell that was walking around.  He hated her more when he learned she had found the vampire that had killed her and decapitated him; robbing him that revenge.  For years he hated her so much, until he started to notice that more of her was left than her bloodsucking corpse.  He rationalized at first; the libraries were just convenient places to hide during the day.  Then early on in his career as a hunter, she spared him.  And kept doing so.  When he finally had the upper hand once, he finally looked her in the eyes, triumphant over the monster.  And the thing he saw was his sister.  Love turned to hate when he thought it wasn’t her.

But now what?

* * *

He heard the close sounds of the struggle and rushed to where the double doored entrance to the building had been demolished; right side of his body protesting all the way.

Glass crunched underneath his boots as his eyes traced the furrow in the moonlit snow down the stone steps and across the courtyard.  She was there, fighting the beast.  His machete was where he left it; in the thing’s leathery side.  One of its arms dangled limply; she was struggling to keep its other claw at bay while also warding off its teeth.

He took a deep breath to steady himself, and aimed.  The beast was old and had grown strong in its age; its back deflected the round he fired at it—when he first got on the scene he had gotten lucky enough to bury his blade right where the thing’s armor ended.  The underbelly looked considerably softer still.  As she and it continued their violent dance, it pulled its massive paw back, presenting a target.  He squeezed the trigger.  The rifle kicked into his shoulder, and the ground underneath the beast was stained red as the bullet tore its way in.  

The beast tensed and thrashed, sending her sprawling away.  Then it turned round on him and its long jaws snapped as yellow eyes glowed.  He worked the bold of his rifle as it hunched down, preparing to pounce.  Then it threw back its head and shrieked; she had regained her footing and messily yanked the machete out.   It managed to shove her away after she opened up a few more long, red lines in its underbelly, and roared.

His next shot went straight down it’s maw.

That was apparently enough, as the thing collapsed into the snow, spreading a red stain all around.  Off balance, he planted the butt of the rifle to the ground to steady himself.  One monster, down, one to go, a part of him ticked off in his head.  He ignored that thought.

“Hey.” She said as she approached him.  She was limping, covered in long, ragged cuts in her side.  The kind that would have been fatal if she were alive.  He let out a sigh, watching the cloud his breath created dance in the air.  She didn’t create any when she smiled and said. “I softened him up for you.”

He had no doubts that if he hadn’t intervened she would’ve been fine gutting the thing; her work with the machete was beautiful.  But, he got the kill, not her.  He held out a hand, gesturing for her to hand over his machete. 

Her smile didn’t fade as she shook her head, glancing down at the wooden stakes he had in his belt.  “I’m not dumb enough to hand a blade over to a Vampire Hunter.”

He shrugged and lowered his hand.  “I figure, even if you did most of the work it was with _my_ machete.  So you’re welcome for that, too.”

She looked surprised that he responded before letting out a short laugh.  She flipped the weapon around so she was holding the dull side of the blade and offering him the handle.  She looked at the monster’s corpse, then back to him.  “Why are you even here?”

He shrugged as he took the offered weapon. “Hunting monsters.”

“And by that you mean…” She narrowed her eyes.

“Exactly what I said.” He said, pulling the heavy furs he was wearing up enough so he could sheath the machete in the scabbard.  The tension left her shoulders.

“Still want to kill me?” She said, turning her back on him and walking up the stairs.  She left herself wide open and defenseless.  He watched the snake design on the back of her leather jacket disappear into the shadow of the building.  Plenty of petty ante bandits used serpents as a symbol; she probably picked the jacket off of an outlaw who thought she’d be easy prey.

He took a few quick steps to catch back up to her, ignoring the ache running up his spine as she did so.  When he was next to her.  “No… I’ve had some time to think.”

She slowed her pace to accommodate him; he’d taken a bit of a beating.  So had she, but she could bounce back so much more easily.  And they’d both made peace with the fact that they weren’t going to kill each other.  They’d gotten bored of this game a long time ago, so why were they still playing it?

He pushed that thought from the head as he walked.

As they walked, she laughed, a short little thing.  He looked at her quizzically, she turned to him and smiled.   “What was that for?”

“Nothing.” He grimaced and glowered at her in annoyance, and she shrugged.  Her face twitched and she added” It’s just… this place used to be a school, before the Long Fall.  Hundreds, thousands of people would come here to learn.”

“I know.” That’s how he found her, actually.  The easiest way to track her once you had a general area was look for the biggest pre-Fall library in the area.  This college had been the obvious choice.  He’d caught her trail and followed it on a whim; the beast had just been a bonus.

“And I was thinking about that time when we were kids and were going to the school.” Their village had been prosperous enough that the children could get a semblance of education.  “And you were so young and Ma told you to stay by my side and when the teacher tried to have you sit with kids your own age…”

“Yeah, I know that story.” He growled, feeling his face turning red as she said it.  No need to dredge that bit up.  The embarrassment, her teasing him, that was a welcome kind of discomfort though.

“Do your monster-hunting buddies know you were so adorably attached to your big sister?  Or that you had a mean right hook even before you could tie your shoes on your own?” She asked, grinning.  “Or is that your deep dark secret, only known to that which you are sworn to destroy?”

He grunted and picked up the pace, passing her, hiding the wince he wanted to make as he did so.  She was headed for the library, because she always set up shop there.  She easily matched his speed, and smiled.  With a sigh, he grumbled “I don’t tell people about my past.”

“Shame.  By the way, that beard looks good.”  She said looking at him appraisingly as they walked.  “Almost like dad’s if you can remember… it’s dashing.”

“ _Dashing_?”  She spent way too much time with her nose buried in books.

“You’ve grown up.” She responded.  When she died, he was barely able to grow peach fuzz, desperately trying to look as mature as he thought he was then.  She smiled and humored his attempts seem like a man rather than a boy; since the plague had claimed ma, they and their miserable little plot of land were the only things either had.  Then she died, and came back, and he learned just how much growing he had to do.

Now he looked old; every bit the thirty-odd years he had and then some.  She continued to look as she had since the day he buried her.

When they reached the library, she pushed open the double doors and stepped in, holding one open for him.  He stepped through and looked around.  The Saur had been sleeping in a lower level when she woke it.  The roof had collapsed in partially and the collection upstairs had been exposed to the elements for who knows how long.  She didn’t find much salvageable here.

“Sorry,” He apologized for something completely not his fault.  They waked over to a small room off of the main library chamber where she had apparently set up shop.  They sat down on either side of the table, looking at one another.  He set his rifle down against the wall and crossed his arms.

“Not your fault.” She shrugged, lighting a lantern.  She shot her a glance, then looked away; her, next to a pile of books, lit by lamplight brought back way too many memories.  “By the way, thank you for helping me with that thing.”

“It’s my job.” He replied. 

“Killing monsters?”

“And helping damsels in distress.” A smile crossed his face as he said that.  It was a cheap, harmless little barb that would rile her up for a second and then she’d calm down.

“Yeah.  That’s why I had to toss it’s scaly ass outside after it knocked you out.”  She said, then added.  “Do all the helpless maidens you rescue have to bail your ass out of trouble?”

“Only the ones who can’t keep out of trouble.  Like you, Sis.”  He shrugged.    

“You’ve never settled down, either.” She said, fingers tracing over scars he’d gotten in his years of monster hunting.  “All these years, and you just kept wandering.”

“I hunt.” He shrugged.  “It’s not the kind of life you want to leave someone at home waiting for.”

“And hunting is lucrative.” She muttered as he wound the gauze around her torso.  “Most people would have retired by now.  Or died.”

He shrugged.  “I intend to keep this up as long as I can.”

“Keep what up, exactly?” She asked, half-turning to look at him out of the corner of her eye.  “I mean, I know you hunt whatever needs hunting.  Wolves, hell lizards, vampires… people…”

“Criminals” he corrected, as if that term separated him from them somehow.  Like ‘vampire’ separated him and his sister.  “You’re right, I hunt whatever’s available.”

“Then why do you keep finding me?  There has to be other things available for you to hunt.”  She said, and after a long pause added “I head North, soon enough I hear rumors from other vampires that a _really_ scary Hunter is moving North.  East, same; West, same; South, same.  You’re not going to kill me, but you keep chasing me. Why?”

He was silent. 

“You’ve pursued me ever since I woke up and dug myself up.” She said.  He looked at her, and she looked away.  “Your entire adult life has been chasing me, and doing good deeds when you’re not doing that.  You’ve never had anyone else but me.  So what’s a girl left to conclude?”

He laughed, feeling something shift in his guts.  He couldn’t really give an answer; there were long nights when he thought about his… vendetta against her, how no matter the effort expended, he’d never manage to slay her; how she was largely harmless and therefore not a priority.  He could never come up with a satisfying answer to why he still chased her.  “It’s just luck.  Nothing more.”

“I doubt that.  I’ve had a lot to think about during these years.”  She said, leaning forward.  “I’ve thought a lot about you, about us.  We were everything back then, on the farm.”

He nodded.  “But now…”

“You don’t have a life except for the hunt, and to you that’s just chasing me.”  She cut in, annoyed.  “As for me, what is there to say; I don’t have grand ambitions to rule the wastes, and I hate vampires that do.  I can’t tell anyone of them who I really am or how I’m related to you.  The one constant, the person I can be myself around is you.  It’s been years, and we’ve changed, but that’s the same.  When it comes down to it, we’re the only one either of us has.”

That was true, damn it.  His eyes shifted from the floor to her, then back to the floor.  When she repeated her question, why he kept chasing her even though there was no real reason to he responded by blurting out “I love you.”

He’d said that countless times to her when she was alive, always taken as the kid brother’s normal interaction with the only family he had left.  But that was hardly the whole truth.  Maybe it started off as that, but as he aged, it grew into something else.  It was something he’d decided to bury; there was no way it was anything approaching appropriate for her. 

He wasn’t looking at her any more after blurting that out.  He hadn’t noticed her slip out of her chair and walk around the table, until she was standing right in front of him.  He looked up at her, and he stroked his face, from the ear down his cheek.  He shivered at her touch; she was almost as cold as the night was.

She leaned forward and kissed him, digging her nails into the back of his coat as her tongue forced her way in.  His slid against hers, running along her teeth, the flat incisors and the long, sharp canines.  He’d had women before, many in many ports, all with the understanding it was never a permanent thing.  This was unlike any of those, in a way that went beyond the coldness of her touch, the strength of her grasp.  There was familiarity there, a connection that he’d never had with anyone else.

In response she sat on his lap, facing him and looping an arm around his neck.  She ran her free hand on the other side of the face, thumb tracing an old scar she’d given him ages ago.  She’d discarded her jacket and was in a thin tee shirt, ignoring the chill; he ran his gloved hand up her spine and she arched into him.  The bottom of his stomach twisted in a way that wasn’t quite as sick as he thought it should be.

When she pulled herself away, tangling fingers in his dark hair, she smiled at him.  “I know.”

**Author's Note:**

> I was vacillating back and forth on which of your prompts to do; both the vampire/hunter and monarch/sibling one were very, very fascinating. I hope this was what you were hoping to see, I cycled through a few different drafts for this, and had a lot of fun writing this out.


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